Public Enemies Numbers 1 through 8
by Avalon Estel
Summary: Sequel to Crime and Punishment. When several someones who shouldn't have gotten away escape from the Halls of Mandos, Namo sends a retrieval team after them to modern Middle Earth, a confusing place of Men and technology. Man is doomed.
1. The Great Escape

Public Enemies No. 1-8

_Chapter One: The Great Escape_

"You were doing it again, weren't you?" asked Mandos in his deep, intimidating voice.

"Heh, heh…doing…doing…what?" asked Fëanor, giving the Vala his most innocent grin. Seeing this, his seven sons broke into equally innocent grins.

Mandos covered his eyes with a hand. "Please, don't play stupid with me, Fëanor. I'm really not in the mood today."

"Come now, Mandos, we all know I'm the most intelligent Elf ever born. I would never do something stupid," Fëanor said. His sons all nodded vigorously. (Except for Maglor, who nodded only slightly.)

"Interesting. Fëanor Finwion never did anything stupid. The thought amuses me."

"Now, my dear Mandos – " Fëanor was cut off by a pattering of feet on the marble floor of the Halls.

"Oh, greatest Mandos!" called the new arrival, a Maia who seemed to be the pompous, teacher's pet type. "I've finished alphabetizing your deceased-Elf files!"

Mandos turned his back on Fëanor and his sons. This was an incredibly unwise thing to do, considering they were the single most destructive force to ever be created, excepting Melkor. While Mandos conversed with the overenthusiastic Maia, the Noldor Elves held a silent conversation, which concluded with Fëanor nodding at Celegorm. Celegorm nodded back and scurried off. Mandos turned back to them and picked up where he had left off in his scolding.

"So if you try to escape again, I can make sure you'll get an extreme increase on your sentences," the Vala said, wagging a finger at the offending Elves.

"Yes, O Great One," they chorused in well-practiced meekness.

("As if we're not going to be here for eternity, anyway," muttered Caranthir gloomily. Curufin elbowed him roughly.)

Suddenly, Mandos got a curious, observant look on his face. "Wasn't there eight of you a moment ago?"

"No!" cried Fëanor. "I only have six sons."

"No, I distinctly remember you having a blonde son," Mandos insisted.

"Are you saying I don't know my own children?"

The conversation was cut off by a loud scream from behind Mandos. The Vala whirled around, and Fëanor and his now-six sons did their best impressions of horrified fëa. The Maia who had alphabetized Mandos' paperwork was hopping around in circles, the bottom of his robes on fire. Celegorm, from a further-off area of the entrance hall, gave his father a thumbs-up. Fëanor nodded approvingly as Celegorm hurried away to replace the wall torch he'd used to set the Maia on fire.

"Help me! Help me, please!" screeched the Maia. Spotting a nearby fountain, he made a mad dash toward it. Lord Ecthelion, who had just finished wringing water from his hair, darted to the side to avoid getting knocked into the fountain. He was just starting to smile triumphantly when he was soaked by a mighty splash of water caused by the Maia jumping into the fountain.

Mandos sighed and went over to make sure that the Maia was all right. When he'd decided that all was well with the hyperventilating spirit, he returned to the spot where he'd been scolding Fëanor.

He wasn't surprised to see that the mad Elf and his seven (or six, as he claimed) sons were gone.

He simply sighed again as he watched the doors to his Halls swing shut on a bout of manically victorious laughter.

"What was that all about?" asked Beleg, who had come into the entrance hall to see what the commotion was.

"Fëanor's loose," Mandos muttered, his arms crossed, staring at the shut doors.

Beleg shrugged. "Better he terrorize the humans than us. I hope he took his idiotic brood with him."

Mandos sighed, a heavier sigh than the other two combined. "He did. Man is doomed."

"You always say that," Beleg told the Vala indifferently. He walk-floated out of the entrance hall and went around the corner he'd just come around, disappearing from view.

"Well, Fëanor, two can play at that game," Mandos murmured. He called the soaking, teacher's pet Maia over.

"Get Lord Ecthelion and Lord Glorfindel and take them to my office," he said.

"Yes, Great One. Might I ask why?"

"They're going on a mission," the Vala explained.

The Maia decided not to pursue the subject. "Off I go, then, m'lord." He shuffled off to find the two Elf-Lords.

"You'll be sorry you ever left my Halls when I'm through with you, Fëanor," Mandos said under his breath. "It will all end in doom for you."


	2. The Retrieval Team

Public Enemies No. 1-8

**_Chapter Two: The Retrieval Team _**

Mandos glared down at the two fëar who stood before him.

"You called for us, my lord?" asked the dark-haired one, who looked slightly damp.

"Indeed, I did," Mandos said, sounding intimidating. He was good at sounding intimidating.

"What can we do to help you?" asked the blonde fëa, who looked absolutely euphoric. Mandos didn't like anything to be euphoric, especially not fëar.

"I want the two of you to…do something for me," Mandos said.

The damp one looked suspicious. "What kind of something?" He hoped it wasn't something that would end in doom. Things tended to when Mandos was involved.

"A retrieval kind of something."

The blonde one started hopping up and down. "You mean you want us to bring you something that you hid somewhere?" He clapped his hands. "Oh, I just _love_ hide-and-seek!"

Mandos sighed, trying to keep his temper in check. "No, Glorfindel. This is not hide-and-seek."

Glorfindel looked crushed.

The damp one raised an eyebrow. "What do you want us to get?"

"Well, Ecthelion, It's not so much a 'what' as it is a 'who'," Mandos told him.

Ecthelion sighed heavily. "Then _who_ do you want us to get?"

"You know of Fëanor and his six sons, do you not?"

"Of course I know about…wait a minute, didn't he have seven sons?"

Mandos slammed his hand against the top of his neatly arranged desk. "I _knew_ he had seven!"

Ecthelion looked horrified. "You mean you want us to bring back Fëanor and his sons!" he cried.

"Precisely," Mandos said, nodding.

"Oh, yay!" Glorfindel said, sounding even more euphoric. "Then we can cheer him up! He always seems like such a gloomy person."

As Ecthelion dragged Glorfindel out of Mandos' office, he muttered, "I'd bet a Silmaril that gloomy won't be the word to describe him when we try to bring him back."

* * *

Meanwhile, Fëanor and company had materialized smack-dab in the middle of a city park.

"We're here!" Fëanor crowed, spreading his arms out wide. Then he looked at his sons. "Do I still look the same, boys?"

"Exactly the same," chorused the seven.

"Wonderful. Now, what do we do now?"

Celegorm raised his hand tentatively. "Well, we could always…get the two Silmarils back," he said.

Fëanor's eyes widened. "We _could_, couldn't we?"

"Oh, yes, Father," Celegorm said excitedly, nodding his head. "I've heard of this thing that Men have developed called scuba diving, which allows them to stay underwater for long periods of time. Or submarines. There's always submarines."

"Submarines. I've heard of those. I'd like to try one."

"No, Father!" cried Maglor in horror. The idea of his father using a submarine was a terrifying one.

Fëanor gave Maglor his most fearsome glare. "You're defying me again, aren't you, Maglor?"

Maglor became even more horror-stricken. "No, Father!" he cried again. "I was just going to say that…uh…you don't know how to speak the tongue of Men!"

Fëanor's angry look melted away as he muttered, "Yes, that _could_ pose a problem…"

"Wait!" exclaimed Maedhros, jabbing an accusatory finger at Maglor. "He can speak the mortals' language, can't he?"

Fëanor became fearsome again. "Indeed, he can…"

Maglor cast about wildly for another excuse. "Uh…well…you need money, anyway, you know!"

"Money?" asked Caranthir, who had been standing off to the side looking dark and gloomy. However, his expression had turned interested. "What's money?"

Fëanor and all of his sons (except Maglor) shrugged.

"Money is…a form of…trade that mortals use. Money is little green pieces of paper and small, round pieces of metal that they use to buy and sell merchandise," Maglor explained.

"Where can we get some of this…money?" asked Fëanor.

Maglor swallowed. "At a bank."

* * *

Ecthelion and Glorfindel stood at the entrance of the Halls. Beleg came up behind them.

"So, are you guys the poor, unlucky idiots who have to go after Fëanor and his brood?" asked Beleg.

"Pretty much," Ecthelion said. At the moment, he felt like an idiot.

"I feel sorry for you, buddy."

"If I were you, I'd feel sorry for me, too. To tell the truth, I feel sorry for myself right now."

"Now, that's self-pity, and that doesn't get you anywhere," Beleg said. "Believe me, I know all about self-pity. You definitely feel bad for yourself when you've been impaled by your best friend!"

Ecthelion was slightly surprised. "You _did_ die in a much worse way than I did, I'll give you that." Glorfindel pranced past right then. "However, I think Glorfindel died in the worst way."

Beleg nodded. "I agree."

Ecthelion grabbed Glorfindel by the golden tresses for which he was named.

"We'd better get going," Ecthelion said, ignoring Glorfindel's repeated cries of "Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"See you around, then," Beleg said, waving. "And good luck. With those loonies, you'll need it."

"I'll need more than luck," Ecthelion told him. "I'm going to need massive psychiatric treatment when we're through."

"I can schedule you an appointment with Nienna, if you like," Beleg suggested.

"Better wait and see how long it will take for me to get back," Ecthelion said.

"Suit yourself," Beleg replied with a shrug.

Ecthelion waved at Beleg and went out the doors, dragging the howling Glorfindel behind him.


	3. Irony and Illegal Actions

**Public Enemies No. 1-8**

_Chapter Three: Irony and Illegal Actions_

Glorfindel and Ecthelion appeared on Earth in what happened to be the same city park that Fëanor and his sons had appeared in. 

"So, where do we start?" asked Glorfindel after the two had finished inspecting their new hröa.

"I don't know," Ecthelion snapped. "Wherever there seems to be the most trouble, I suppose."

They started down the street, their robes drawing stares from those around them. Ecthelion's prospects were starting to get brighter, and he was regaining hope. Perhaps, if he managed to capture Fëanor and the others, Mandos would release his fëa and allow him to live again.

Perhaps, if Mandos was in a generous mood.

They stopped at a crosswalk and were waiting for the cars to finish passing when a diesel truck drove by, one that was extremely similar to the one that had hit and killed Glorfindel. It splashed them both with water that had pooled in the street from a rainstorm the previous night.

"Wow, isn't that ironic?" asked Glorfindel, grinning with delight.

"Life can be really, really cruel," Ecthelion murmured.

* * *

"My son is a failure," Fëanor said, his head hanging low.

"Father, I'm sorry…but if I'm dead, they can't let anyone to withdraw from my account unless they have special authorization," Maglor explained. "They think I'm dead, so they won't let me take money out, because I'm not supposed to be alive to take it out."

"Failure!" wailed Fëanor, throwing his arms to the sky.

Maedhros smirked and elbowed Maglor, who stepped on Maedhros' foot.

They began to walk away from the bank they had just entered, when a group of black-clad figures ran past them and banged their way into the bank. They automatically started shouting and pointing guns at people.

"What's going on?" asked Fëanor, fascinated.

"A bank robbery," Maglor explained, sounding apathetic.

"Which means?" prodded Amrod.

"That those men in black are trying to steal money from the bank."

Fëanor threw his arms up again. "_Failure_!" he screeched. "Why didn't _you_ think of that, Maglor?"

"Because it's illegal, Father," Maglor said.

"Because you're a _failure_! It's a disgrace to call you my son!"

"Yes, Father."

As the bank robbers ran out again, now with a sack of money, Fëanor jumped on one of them and knocked him out with a swift blow to the head. The rest of the Fëanorians leapt on the remaining bank robbers, Maglor included. They took the guns from their hands, but there were only five guns, so Maglor, Caranthir, and Curufin ended up unarmed. Then, Fëanor picked up the sack of money and heaved it onto his shoulder.

And to his sons' shock and incredulity, he began heading back to the bank.

"What are you doing, Father?" demanded Maedhros. "We have the money!"

"I'm carrying out my plan," Fëanor said. "We will go inside the bank, pretending to be good citizens who are returning the money, then, we'll hold the place up and demand even _more_ money, and then we'll make a run for it."

"We will never get away with this," moaned Amras.

"Tally-ho, boys!" cried Fëanor, waving his gun in the air. "Let us sally forth into the unknown!" He kicked the doors of the bank open and strode inside, his seven sons behind him.


End file.
